


Water under the bridge

by DeVereWinterton



Series: CoT: Missed Smutportunities [2]
Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: And other wet stuff, BOAB, Boner On A Bridge, F/M, London, Shameless Smut, Smut, Smutportunities, Some Fluff, There's water, bridges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: Also known as ‘Boner On A Bridge.’ You all know the one I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you don’t. You know who you are.‘She thought he’d be over it by now – especially after his rather amorous advances in his room at the boarding house - but she supposes that with Jack, it will take some time for him to forgive her for her behaviour since her return to London.’
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Series: CoT: Missed Smutportunities [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701574
Comments: 18
Kudos: 125





	Water under the bridge

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess we’re doing a series now? Is that what this is? I think so. There are just so many smutportunities in that movie and my brain refuses to leave it the hell alone. Quelle surprise.
> 
> I feel VERY iffy about this instalment, and I don’t know why. Usually I just hate everything I write. Now… I don’t know how to feel about it. Which is unusual. 
> 
> This fic can be read as a standalone story, but I would highly recommend reading [the first part](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464837) of this series. Otherwise, certain things might seem forward or make less sense, because this one continues almost right where part 1 left off…

“And I’m _very_ sorry that I’m not _dead_!”

Her voice sounds shrill, even to her own ears. It’s ricocheting off the rolling waves in the Thames, bouncing off the tiles on the pavement. Phryne didn’t mean to yell in public, but watching Jack walk away from her again... She might, in an uncharacteristic turn of events, have panicked and blurted out the first thing she knew would get a reaction from him. She’s usually far more considerate and refined.

But, she justifies to herself, he has been walking away from her far too often to her liking lately.

 _Well. With the exception of last night._ She thought he’d be over it by now – especially after his rather amorous advances in his room at the boarding house - but she supposes that with Jack, it will take some time for him to forgive her for her behaviour since her return to London.

She brought up her supposed death again, and she winces internally as she realises this probably will not aid her cause. It’s somewhat of a low blow. It’s a childish attempt to get his attention. She knows this. She’s poking the grumpy bear. It’s just that he’s a very handsome bear. Particularly when he’s grumpy. The way his brow furrows, his cheeks hollow just ever so slightly, and the pursing of those full lips...

Phryne is in love with this bear. She’s not unlike Goldilocks: Jack’s just right for her. She simply wishes they could skip ahead to the time where all is forgiven. She longs to continue where they left off last night. She aches for it. In the moment when he kissed her at the boarding house, his love for her outweighed his mixed emotions, and his utter confusion; he welcomed her presence. Eventually.

Jack stopped in his tracks, and it feels like a small victory. A petty one, but a victory nonetheless. Phryne doesn’t have to see his face to know Jack has raised his eyes skywards, his head (and hat) tilted back, probably wondering why he even puts up with her.

It’s a question she has pondered many times.

Resolutely, he turns around, observing her from a distance. The brief flash of his coat’s red lining belies his stern demeanour as he regards her.

Hands on her hips, shoulders squared, she stares right back at him, jaw set firmly in place, a challenge written in her eyes. She blinks, then narrows her eyes as if she’s considering her next possible move.

She will not budge, however, knowing the next move has to be his.

The moment he starts to walk towards her, her heart flutters, but she manages to keep her composure. It would not do to spoil this game between them, to break the tension they both seem to enjoy, one way or another.

He stands close, almost too close for it to be considered proper and this excites her. He is so brave, her Jack.

His coat brushes hers.

“You know the quickest way to escape me?” she goads him.

All she receives for her efforts is a curt, tight nod.

Always so serious, her Jack.

“Tie you up? Dump you in that river?” Jack suggests. His voice is a low rumble, almost soft, his tongue rolling around the syllables effortlessly. She remembers all too well the feel of that clever tongue in her mouth, the taste of him, his lips passionately moving against hers barely twelve hours ago.

 _And tying her up?_ Well _, the idea certainly has merit, but…_

“Or you could help me with this case,” she quips, and though it might have come out as a bit of a joke, she is dead serious. She values Jack - not only because the man knows how to fill out a suit, or how to stimulate her on several different levels, but mostly because of his skillset and knowledge in their given field. She could do it without him; she might even be able to solve this mystery without him… but everything is just so much better when they do it _together_.

She imagines _everything_ will be so much better. She _knows_ everything will be so much better, if last night was any indication…

Because she loves to get a rise out of him – the way he flusters and stammers is endearing to her in a way that no other man has ever accomplished before – and because, well, it _is_ a necklace, Phryne pulls the mysterious, silver-looking pendant from her cleavage. Even now, it’s still cold to the touch as it sparkles in the sunlight.

Peripherally, she notices Jack as he pretends to look away, and acts as though he’s tired of her antics. She recognises it as an integral part of their game. By now, he’s hardly surprised at her lack of propriety when in public, she knows this, but he cannot resist shaking his head. Always so proper, her Jack. Briefly, she wonders if he would have disapproved, had she taken him in her mouth last night at the boarding house, the way she’d wanted to. She likes to think he is a hidden hedonist, a secret sensualist, and that he would have enjoyed it immensely.

She wants to find out, sooner rather than later.

“Look at this stone,” she whispers, tempting him, knowing full well the effect this tone of voice has on him. And though he would hardly ever admit it, the man is exactly like her in the sense that he cannot resist the desire to solve a mystery.

He leans in. They’re both still in the clothes they’ve been wearing all night; she’d like to imagine she can still smell faint traces of her own perfume on his neck.

“It could be glass,” Jack offers.

“No. It’s far more precious than that,” she says with conviction, looking at the gem in question. “Look in the light. See how the reflections flash pure green? And it’s cool to the touch.” She holds the pendant against her cheek as she turns to face him, then thinks of a better way to prove her point.

Leaning closer, she holds the cool pendant against his cheek. He flinches, but doesn’t move away.

“Can you feel that?” she whispers.

Jack shakes his head minutely. “No,” he whispers back, and she knows full well he isn’t talking about the necklace. But she can’t resist. He looks utterly delicious, staring her right in the eye, not backing down. She is lost in those endless pools of blue, as deep as the Pacific Ocean.

She lowers her eyes and presses the pendant against his pulse point. She resents wearing gloves, because she wants to feel his skin underneath her fingertips. She’s certain it will be as hot to the touch as it was last night.

Jack closes his eyes against the public onslaught. “No,” he says, louder this time.

She moves the pendant to his Adam’s apple, next. All that escapes his throat is a fervent whisper: “No.”

Phryne has to fight the impulse to kiss him, then and there. She longs to swallow his protesting whispers until they turn into hoarse shouts of approval. Instead, she daringly dips the pendant under his collar.

Too far.

Jack swallows, and opens his eyes. “No.” A stern whisper, accompanied by a slight tilt of his head. His right eye twitches, imperceptibly.

It’s final.

The moment’s over, but the ache she feels deep inside hasn’t diminished. Nor has the ache between her thighs. Part of her knows she should let it go, for now. But another, much more stubborn part, wants to push his buttons just a little more. Just a tad. She knows it’s foolish, that she should give him time, space… But there has already been so much space between them for far too long, and so much time has passed.

She’s not afraid of losing Jack, but she fears never getting or having the opportunity to know him fully. She wants him to know that he has her heart. Has already had it for a very long time. She hates to admit it, and is afraid to acknowledge it, but she wants to hear the same thing from him. She doesn’t _need_ Jack, but having been separated from him on several notable occasions… Well, she would prefer never to have to go through that again.

It was close to unbearable.

Making as big of a show of it as she possibly could without attracting too much attention, or causing a scandal, she regretfully pulls away ever so slightly from Jack. He adjusts his coat in a peculiar manner and she doesn’t need to look down to know what she will find. She watches him watching her, his sharp eyes following her movements with rapt attention. Raising her hand, she dangles the pendant in front of his face, before lowering it back towards her cleavage. She raises an eyebrow, knowing there’s a smirk lurking somewhere near the corners of her red-slicked lips. In anticipating the touch of the cold metal on her breast, she’s too caught up in her game, and forgets to anticipate his next move.

In the blink of an eye, he grabs her wrist and, careful not to cause a scene, pulls her along behind him, down the steps leading to the embankment underneath the bridge. Phryne knows she should feel insulted about his manhandling her, but she is feeling far too giddy to worry about Jack’s boorish mannerisms right now.

By the time he lets go of her, they’re already under the bridge.

***

After making sure they’re out of sight, and away from prying eyes, Jack whirls around to face the insufferable woman he loves. She’s casually leaning against one of the stone pillars that make up the foundation of the bridge, as though she’s been there all along. She’s named after a Greek courtesan, but she looks like one of the caryatids. Hidden in the shadows, but ready to burst out into the sun, carrying the world on her shoulders.

“Are you trying to get me arrested?!” he hisses, and accusation laces his voice. He isn’t mad at her. Well, part of him _is_ mad at her for tempting him with that thrice damned pendant without him being able to undress her on the spot. The necklace is still taunting him, dangling from her hand. He’s mostly angry at himself for his lack of self-control. His erection is throbbing inside his trousers, and it’s pressing uncomfortably against the buttons of his fly. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t let her get to him again, not like this, not after last night. But evidently, his cock has a different idea. The mere thought of her soft, willing body makes him want to groan.

Phryne doesn’t appear to be impressed. If anything, the smile on those luscious lips makes him want to kiss it off even more now that they’re down here.

“Is it working?” she asks, and it’s only when he notices he can almost feel her breath on his face that he realises he’s crossed the distance between them. His feet have betrayed him once again. He couldn’t stay away from her, even if he tried. Lord knows, on so many occasions he’s tried. His heart belongs to her, and no one can tell it what to do, not even he himself. It’s simply the way his affections lie. It is a fact he has accepted a long time ago.

Jack leans in, resting his arm on the pillar behind her. The effect making it appear he’s looming over her. Still, she doesn’t shy away, and he loves this about her. “I’m not made of stone, Phryne,” he confesses, his voice a mere rumble in his chest. There’s barely any space left between their bodies, and for the umpteenth time during their acquaintance, Jack wonders why he feels the need to torture himself thusly.

A saucy expression crosses her face, and he knows he’s done for.

_And there is absolutely no need for her to bite her lip that way!_

Phryne glances down, and Jack realises he has inadvertently let go of his coat, giving her an eye-full of the current state of affairs.

“Well, I don’t know about that, Inspector. Rock-solid evidence points to the contrary,” she sasses. One gloved hand comes up to cup him, but before she can get anywhere near his groin, Jack steps back a bit and wraps his coat around his mid-section once more.

Phryne pouts, making a sound somewhere between disapproval and disappointment.

Doffing his hat and dropping it on the ground, uncaring, he gently presses his forehead against hers, and he feels more than hears her release a rather shaky breath. For a second, he wants to remain like this forever. “ _Phryne_.” An exasperated exhalation. “I cannot be seen in this… state.”

Jack knows he’s making it too easy for her to tease him, but he cannot deny one of the things he loves most about her is her sharp wit. He pulls back a little so he can look at her face, and she does not disappoint.

One of her hands has made its way onto his chest, and by now the toying with the knot of his tie feels almost familiar. “I much _prefer_ you in this state, Jack,” she purrs at him, and her other hand brushes back an errant curl that has made its way onto his forehead. It would make sense for a woman like Phryne to be drawn to the one thing about his person that rebels against the rules of propriety; his wavy hair. Well, that, and his –

“But maybe I could help you to… cool down, a little?” The hand on his chest disappears to show the necklace that’s still in her possession. The mischievous smirk on her lips indicates that she knows damn well that showing him that pendant will now, and forever more, have the exact opposite effect on him. She looks like the cat that got the cream and is rolling around in it.

One hand is pulling him closer by his lapel, the other is reaching out with the pendant in it.

But before Phryne can place the damnable cold silver onto his skin one more time, Jack snatches the necklace from her hand, shoves it inside his pocket and cups the back of her neck with his other hand, pulling her in and meeting her parted lips halfway.

He feels the heat of her body right before he tastes the heat of her mouth. For the briefest of moments, Jack feels her tense, and he wonders if she’s about to run away to report a stolen necklace. But then her arms wind themselves around his neck, and she’s pulling him in, pulling him closer, ever closer still, until her back hits the cold brick of the bridge.

Phryne clasps her hands behind his neck, holding him to her so tightly, Jack almost expects her to merge their bodies right through their clothing. She’s kissing him hard and fast and he is dizzy with want, his cock pulsating to the beat of his hammering heart. He slides his tongue along her bottom lip, and when she grants him entrance, it’s only to immediately push her tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth. She groans when he sucks greedily at her tongue and _oh_ , is he proud of that one. Her taste is heady, addictive, and Jack knows he’s growing impatient, fast approaching the point of no return.

He pushes the unmistakable evidence of his arousal between her thighs. Phryne moans; the need for oxygen becoming too great, the fear of discovery suddenly rushing to the forefront of his mind. Cars drive by overhead, crowds are bustling by, and though they aren’t likely to be overheard down here, his first instinct is to stop this madness. He regretfully tears his lips away from hers.

They’re both panting, trying to catch their breath, their exhalations intermingling.

“You know, I haven’t forgiven you,” Jack rasps against her mouth, teasing her yet also reminding her. Letting her know she doesn’t have the upper hand in this, that he’s still hurting, healing. Wanting her to realise they’re partners, equals, and that they’re in this together.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to,” she murmurs, nimble fingers playing with the lapels of his coat. He’s not at all surprised that she has somehow managed to undo his tie and unbutton the first couple of buttons of his shirt.

He gives her a quick, gentle kiss. Suddenly overcome by the need to run his fingers through her hair, to reassure her of his affections, he removes her hat, but dares not drop such a (no doubt) expensive piece of millinery. “Good,” he acquiesces, resting his chin on her head before pressing his lips to her crown. She smells of summer, and of Phryne.

She closes her eyes. “I’ve missed you, Jack.” The confession seemingly slips from her swollen lips without her permission.

“It’s only been a couple of hours, Miss Fisher,” he quips cheekily.

Anticipating the coming headbutt, he quickly removes his chin from the top of her head. He catches the look of pure indignation on her face; _she_ has the audacity to look affronted?! Phryne Fisher, of all people!

“Jack Robinson! Not _that_ , you _insufferable_ man,” she says, and her attempt at a glare would have been convincing, if not for the absolute and utter look of pride in her eyes at his indecent comment.

Jack raised an eyebrow at the use of the now familiar adjective.

“Yes, _I_ can do that _too_.” She smirks triumphantly, the tip of her nose in the air, her cerulean eyes filled with victory and valour. Then, suddenly serious, she adds: “I meant – ”

Jack hugs her, crushing her body to his, needing to feel her, wanting the intimacy of just holding her for a short while. “I know what you meant,” he says in what he hopes is a steady tone, but his voice cracks as he continues. “God, Phryne, I’ve missed you so much,” he confesses, his voice reduced to a shaky whisper. He pulls back and sees the tears in her eyes. “When I read the news, I just – ”

She kisses him, and he knows she’s conveying feelings and truths her mouth cannot yet speak. They have only kissed a handful of times, and whilst it is all still very new, there is a comforting familiarity to their intimacy. Having been separated for a long time, their three long years of waiting is now requiring a great deal of self-control. The kiss starts out innocently enough, but soon Jack can hear his blood thundering in his ears again, and suddenly he is back in his room, pressing her pliant body against the wall. He’s tired, and weary, but his body is wide awake, jolted by the memory of her scent, her soft skin, her shaky indrawn breaths, her breathy moans and whimpers against his lips.

She promised him ‘Soon.’ Jack wants ‘Soon’ to be ‘Now.’

Her hands are restless, roaming his broad shoulders, his strong back, his neck, his chest, whereas his are constant, stable. One hand at the nape of her neck – anchoring her to him – the other caressing her cheek as he all but devours her. Her body is loosening against his, and so are his inhibitions. His head is spinning, but he attributes it to the fact that everything about this infuriating woman is heady and arousing.

He barely notices that he has dropped her hat.

***

Her hand is on his cock again. For all the time she has known him, in comparison, she has had her hand on his groin quite often in the past twelve hours. But it’s still not enough. She wants to whine in frustration, wants him here. Now. Naked.

_Again with these godforsaken trousers!_

“Jack,” she pants, pushing at his chest. “Jack, I - ” He chooses this particular moment to suck on her pulse point and she recognises this as payback, retribution for when she teased him mercilessly, earlier.

He groans and jerks against her hand when she squeezes him. He grabs her wrist in his large palm and pulls her away from her goal. Honestly, the man is as stubborn as the mule she encountered several weeks ago. She knows Jack, and even though he is full of surprises, she doubts he will take her against a column of a public bridge. She wants him to, but even Jack Robinson’s bravery has its limits. And it’s a damn shame, because she wants the weight of him in her mouth with a fierceness and a ferocity that could probably suck the Thames dry.

She knows they’re risking being arrested for public indecency, but she would die happy if she could turn it into a case of indecent exposure. The thrill arouses her even more.

Jack’s placing open-mouthed kisses on her neck and she’s struggling to focus. When he bites her earlobe, she groans, and he bites down even harder to keep her quiet. Her hips are shifting restlessly, seeking friction, and her hands are clawing at his back. She needs something, anything, to ease the agonizing burn and the pulsing of her core.

His voice, when it comes, is husky and close to her ear. “What do you need, Phryne?”

 _Him_. Jack Robinson. His mouth, his cock, his fingers. Anything!

Phryne wonders if he has ever brought a woman to completion with that clever tongue of his, if he has ever tasted a woman. With an appetite like Jack’s, she’s almost certain his preferences in the bedroom must be positively Dionysian. Despite Jack’s protests, she can still feel his aroused interest, hot and heavy against her thigh, the light material of her dress offering little resistance. He has unbuttoned her coat in the process of kissing her – he’s always been a quick study and appears to have mastered the closures by this point; she squirms against him. The hand he has on her buttock tightens.

“Touch me.”

Jack has never been a man who needed much instruction, but part of her is squealing with glee that he seems so willing to give her pleasure, even before tending to his own. And in public, no less. Though, knowing Jack the way she does, she’s willing to bet money on it that he derives pleasure from pleasing others. She also suspects the prospect of possibly breaking a couple of laws might secretly appeal to him as well. She’s fairly certain he must have broken a law in the past, and not solely due to her presence or actions. Jack can be quite the rebel whether he wants to be, or not, but nevertheless, she longs to corrupt him. He’s always so stern, dour, serious when on the job. But this… this is a different kind of job altogether; she can only hope he will apply himself with the same fastidious focus he employs for everything else.

She needn’t have worried.

She feels one of his hands as it almost hastily rucks up the hem of her dress. She’s unsure whether it’s because he is as impatient as she is, or because he’s worried they’re going to get caught. The risk of a possible discovery – with _Jack_ , no less! – makes her cunt throb, and she can feel herself growing even wetter when his other hand brushes over her knee, inches closer to her thigh. She can’t see his face, but she can hear and feel his panting breaths near her ear. Somehow the fact that he is as affected by all of this as she is, excites her even more. She subconsciously spreads her thighs, resisting the urge to rub them together.

Jack traces his callused fingertips over her lacy stocking top, and she can feel the smile on his face against her cheek when he encounters the hilt of her trusty dagger.

“Really, Miss Fisher?”

“A lady has to protect herself, Inspector.”

“You have any more surprises hidden down there?”

“Just the one, Inspector. Why don’t you investigate the matter?”

“Oh, I intend to, Miss Fisher. Thoroughly.”

***

The first time his fingers touch the soft, damp curls at the apex of her thighs, and brush her feminine folds, Jack can already feel the moist heat on her skin and he inhales sharply. His face is buried in her hair, and his nose is nuzzling the soft skin he finds there as he whispers sweet-nothings in her ear. The leg of her knickers has been pulled unceremoniously to the side, granting him the access they both crave. It lacks finesse. While he wants to be mortified by his behaviour, Phryne only seems to encourage his eagerness to touch her. Jack can’t be sure between the two of them, who wants this more. He’s throbbing inside his trousers, close to bursting, and is almost convinced he wants it more when Phryne moans with an urgency he hasn’t heard from her before.

“Jack… _please_.”

He has mercy on her. Because she is glorious in her abandon, he knows he cannot draw this out for too long. He uses his thumb and forefinger to spread her open. He can smell her arousal, along with the perfume she must have dabbed behind her ear the day before, and there’s a faint trace of jasmine in her hair. It’s a heady cocktail, dangerous, and addictive. She squirms against his fingertips, and he uses the hand that’s holding up her dress to press back against her hip, wordlessly admonishing her while simultaneously keeping her upright.

She’s panting, her chest is heaving as he slowly and steadily slips one long finger inside her. Jack groans at the burning heat he encounters, wishing it were his cock inside her instead. She mewls and clamps down around his finger, her muscles fluttering, and for a moment Jack considers unbuttoning his trousers to sink into her willing, warm body. He doubts she would have any objections.

But not yet. Not here.

He needs time. He wants to be with her, body and soul, when he gives himself fully to her.

He starts a quick and steady rhythm of deep thrusts. Soon, he adds a second finger and Phryne keens. She’s riding his fingers, trying to meet his invading digits as he pushes them into her dripping cunt. Nothing else exists in this moment but the two of them, his fingers moving inside her and her muffled whimpers and stifled moans. He deliberately crooks his fingers, rubbing against the front of her pelvis. She clamps down hard, sucking in a harsh breath, and he knows he’s found the spot.

“ _Fuck_ , Jack. Yes, _there_!” she encourages him.

He pulls back slightly so he can watch the emotions play out on her face. She’s so beautiful to him; eyes screwed shut, dress rucked up around her waist, her head lolling back against the bricks, her cheeks flushed. He pushes even further, deeper, harder, pushing her towards the precipice fast and hard.

“Gods, Jack. I wish this were you instead,” she pants in-between thrusts, and Jack knows he’ll go to his grave remembering the breathiness of her voice.

He grunts in her ear. “It is me, Phryne. Feel me. Feel me as I slide inside of you.” Jack has never been one for talking during sex, but he’ll be damned if she doesn’t bring out the worst, and quite probably the best in him.

Phryne makes a sound halfway between a moan and a whine.

“When, Jack?” she asks breathlessly, and Jack shares her impatience.

“Soon, Phryne. Soon you will have me. _All_ of me,” he emphasizes with a slow grind of his clothed cock against her thigh.

She’s growing even wetter, he can feel the slickness on his hand, as her muscles start to tighten around his fingers. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, eyes still tightly shut; he can tell she is close.

“You’re exquisite,” he pants in her ear. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he whispers. “Every.” Thrust. “Last.” Out. “Inch.” Push. “Of you.”

He bites her earlobe the same moment he presses his thumb against her slippery clit, and it sends her flying.

Jack barely has the presence of mind to press his lips against hers, muffling her wild cries as she comes. Her back snaps taut, and her entire body goes rigid as she screams into his mouth. He swallows her mewls with ease until he carefully draws back, her body slumping against his.

***

When his fingers slip from her body, Phryne whimpers. Jack is sorely tempted to taste her, to clean his fingers with his tongue. But he wants to wait, wants to savour the moment, wants to cherish the first time he will give her pleasure with his mouth. And pleasure her, he will. He is nothing if not determined, but he’s also patient, and he plans on luxuriating in everything she has to offer him. _Next_ time, he wants to _take_ his time.

He doesn’t know for a fact that there will be a next time, but several clues have led him to believe there might just be. And he _is_ an Inspector, after all.

Jack takes out his handkerchief, removing the traces of her lipstick from his mouth. He cleans his hand, then belatedly realises he should probably have offered the handkerchief to her first.

Phryne however, doesn’t appear to have a care in the world. She rights herself, and when she adjusts her underwear, Jack can feel himself blush. He lets go of her dress and allows the fabric to drop down, covering her not so modest modesty. When she looks at him, it’s as though they are seeing each other for the first time, yet it’s so familiar that there’s no room for awkwardness between them. Her cheeks are rosy, and there is an appreciative glint in her eyes that mesmerizes him. Her entire composure is relaxed, and for a woman who’s usually a flurry of movement, it’s an interesting juxtaposition.

He shoves the soiled handkerchief into his trouser pocket.

“Hello,” she offers softly, almost shyly, and she places a gloved hand on his cheek.

“Hello,” he replies, placing his hand over hers, cradling her to him.

There are so many things he wants to say, but she glances down to where the evidence of his burgeoning desire is still pressing rather insistently between them.

“Jack… if you want, I could–”

He places a finger on her lips, and tries not to think about how that finger was touching different lips not too long ago – tries not to consider what she was just about to suggest. And definitely tries to ignore the throbbing in his loins when he pictures those now pale pink lips, absent of her customary red lipstick, wrapped around his –

“Soon, Phryne.”

How she manages to look both entirely innocent, and absolutely debauched when she smiles, he has no idea.

She grabs her hat from the pavement, and within seconds it’s back in place on top of her dark hair. With practiced ease, she fastens the closures on her coat and smooths down the material. Apart from the slight blush on her round cheeks, and the lingering scent of her feminine essence, no one would be any wiser as to what just transpired underneath this bridge.

Common sense creeps back in.

“You should probably go up first,” Jack suggests as he picks up and dons his own hat.

She raises an eyebrow at him, then casts a deliberate glance at his crotch. “Give me a good… _head_ -start, Inspector?”

He groans, but the unmistakable twinkle in his eye proves that his bark is worse than his bite.

“Always, Miss Fisher,” he promises, and she smiles before turning around and heading towards the stone steps that lead back up to the road.

He shakes his head, then grins to himself.

Come _after me, Jack Robinson._

_Indeed._


End file.
